


The Immortal Jellyfish

by Tweedledee84



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Family Drama, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Swearing, Turtle References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-08 04:02:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13450134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tweedledee84/pseuds/Tweedledee84
Summary: Your average Homo sapien sapien isn’t immortal, everyone knows that. That very fact controls their life, preventing them from approaching that cutie at the bar in fear of rejection, but also urging them to in fear of never reproducing before an untimely demise.Now, when I say that everyone recognises that humans aren’t immortal, I must admit that that statement, in no way, applies to my… family. Nor does it apply to my friends and colleagues.





	1. Turritopsis dohrnii

The species Turritopsis dohrnii is commonly known by the name ‘The Immortal Jellyfish’.   
This wonderfully creative species can adapt to almost any situation it may find itself in, whether it be injured, starved, or subject to extreme environmental stress. In each of these life-threatening scenarios, ‘The Immortal Jellyfish’ shrinks in size before reducing itself into a polyp (similar to an anemone). This vital transformation means it continues to live, but the jellyfish will never inhabit the body it once had again, even though it may become a jellyfish again after it has served it sentence (minimum of 3 days) as a polyp.

This process gives ‘The Immortal Jellyfish” its name.

However, it is possible for ‘The Immortal Jellyfish’ to be brutally stripped of its life altogether: when a larger predator decides it is hungry.   
And no predator is hungrier than the turtle.

A turtle consumes up to 16 000 calories each day, equivalent to more than 20 jellyfish. The turtle could be the greatest foe of the jellyfish species as a whole, however, the jellyfish is defenceless against the turtle’s attacks. This means that the jellyfish has no way to evade the turtle, and no way to prevent the horrific close to its life.

So this is the story of a Turritopsis dohrnii who was neither immortal nor lucky enough to have a turtle as its enemy. And it isn’t lucky enough to be a jellyfish, either.

 

Your average Homo sapien sapien isn’t immortal, everyone knows that. That very fact controls their life, preventing them from approaching that cutie at the bar in fear of rejection, but also urging them to in fear of never reproducing before an untimely demise.

Now, when I say that everyone recognises that humans aren’t immortal, I must admit that that statement, in no way, applies to my… family. Nor does it apply to my friends and colleagues.

We (and I use that term as loosely as possible) are among those who perform extraordinary feats each and every night, patrolling Gotham and its surrounds, seeking crime in its truest sense. We are a group of ordinary humans (well, most of us are…) who push the limits of the definition ‘human’, and I am lone survivor of the turtle that ate us all…   
Joker.

The worst monster ever to walk any Earth. The bringer of death and master of laughs, or The Clown Prince of Crime as he calls himself. But I have only one word that truly describes Joker: miscreation. 

Joker is the reason I do not believe in a higher-being. Because no God, be it Christian or Muslim or Roman or Greek, would ever be capable of creating such a colossal asshole. Neither would they be able to conjure such a horrible idea… So if there was a God, Joker must have killed them too. 

Just. Like. He. Killed. Jason. Todd.  
Just. Like. He. Killed. Robin.  
Just. Like. He. Killed…

Me.


	2. Surprises

Sometimes in life, The Universe surprises you. It may chuck in a speeding car while you’re crossing the road, or a failing mark amongst your perfect GPA, but none of these are truly surprises. They are things that we kind of expect, things that the little voice rolling around in your noggin whispers in your ears.

In your mind these occurrences might even be normal. But I can tell you, from experience, when The Universe doesn’t agree with your plan, you’re gonna know it. It’ll try it’s damn hardest to make sure that that pathway you see yourself going down is covered in over-grown shrubbery that is blocking out the sun, and, that it is lonelier that you could ever imagine. The Universe has thrown one surprise after another at me, and after 20 years of this, I am getting pretty sick of it.

So that’s how The Universe surprised me today, by not living up to everything its done to me before. The Universe has stopped throwing obstacles in my way, stopped creating doubt in the minds of those I need to trust me, stopped being a bunch of bitches. Today… today The Universe cut me a lot of slack, and quite frankly, I’m not sure why.

“What on Earth are you doing here, Ti- Replacement?!”

 

27/04/13 1724

“Mom?!. Are you here?!”

A single row of awning windows line the top of each wall. Bare, rusted support poles appearing every 10 metres. Blackened corrugated aluminium sheets as the inner casing. A single, wooden door on the far right, a double steel door behind me.

A 6ft stack of cardboard boxes labelled ‘Schwartz Industries’ in the far left corner. Drum-barrels lining the right wall three-wide by two-high. Used paper-towels crumpled like incorrect stick-notes lining the dull concrete floor inconsistently. 

A quick categorisation of the vast space indicates that my mother, my actual birth-mother, isn’t here. I feel my shoulders sag a little before stiffening them again. But not because Alfred insists that sagging shoulders are terrible for one’s posture, but because of the sound of slow, almost methodical, steps making its way forward from behind me. 

As the sound passes my right, I realise it is not the only distinctive sound being created in this space. There’s not only one more sound, but several. 

A whimper. A scrape. A grunt. A door handle that hasn’t been lubricated recently. Squeaky door-hinges.

A shadowy figure. Correction: two shadowy figures.

“Mom?!” I speak hesitantly, a betraying tremor in the front of my throat causing a voice-crack. I clear my throat of the ball of spit that suddenly appeared there.

“Is that you?” The only response is a distinctly-male cough. Then a barely-contained chuckle. A rock sinks into the base of my stomach, a horrible realisation dawning upon my consciousness – the only reaction I manage before the chuckle graduates into a full-blown psychotic cackle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the Kudos and views so far, I'm glad at least a few can enjoy my fics.
> 
> Another update will be here in the next four days.


	3. People

If there was one thing I learnt in the first 15 years of my very disappointing life, it was that people suck. People lie. People betray. People are cruel. People are the inspiration for the monsters in our bed-time stories and cautionary tales. People are the reason everything sucks. People suck.

However, if there is any one thing I learnt in the first 20 years of my time on Earth, it is that not every single person sucks. People can redeem themselves. People can be selfless. People can be the heroes we are inspired by. People can be the reason something doesn’t suck. Some people can be fantastic.

But every rule has an exception. Or two. Maybe.

You see, I said SOME people can be fantastic. There are more than a few people in this hell-hole of a city that will never be fantastic or even remotely good. One example of this: Bruce. 

A better example? Joker.

But that shit-head is gone now. Murdered.

Murdered by someone I never thought it could be.

Someone who I realise, now, didn’t do it for me. Didn’t even do it for themselves. 

 

They did it for the Joker.

 

27/04/13 1727

“Joker,” I grunt, “A bit from Gotham ain’t ya?”

“Oh, I’d travel anywhere for you Boy Blunder 2… Well, Batsy anyways…” He whispers menacingly before bursting into hideous grin. “I thought I’d help mediate this…”  
He continues as he walks confidently into the little light still left in the warehouse, the eerie dimness accentuating the length of his nose and chin. As he hastily yanks forward the collar of the second shadowy figure which was collapsed haplessly on the cold concrete floor towards me, he explains what exactly he is ‘helping’ with: “This family reunion.” 

I rush forward forgetting just which crazy maniac I was dealing with tonight, leaving my head and back open to any attack Joker has waiting for me. And of course, there was more than one waiting very impatiently for me. Just my luck.

Just as I made out the third syllable of questioning my mother’s condition, I felt a great pressure strike my crown, I heard a sickening crunch, and all I could smell was metal. I attempted to roll out of the way of any further incoming strikes, however, the sheer force of the first one left me disorientated and I ended collapsing on my side, the world around me spinning uncontrollably.

“Surprised?” he pouted. “I thought Bats trained his birds better than that. Look at you. You’re…” He cackles and laughs and giggles and almost continues on that path before catching himself, “Not Batman’s best work. I mean… look at No. 1. He was so much better at this than you. It’s almost like he knew this was going to happen.”

“No…” I wheeze. “Batman doesn’t know I’m…” I can almost feel my eyes comically bulge from my sockets; telling Joker that B doesn’t know I’m here is definitely not a good thing to do. Hopefully he doesn’t connect the very obvious dots.

“Oh?” he smirks. “The Big Bat doesn’t know his little bird is trapped all alone, all because the second-hand Robin decided that he wanted his mummy?” He released a stomaching churning chortle. “Oh, you might just be half as funny as Birdy No. 1, Boy 2,” he says, wiping a fake tear. “It’s too bad he isn’t here to deliver the-,” he swings what I see know to be a crowbar, the curved split end hitting me square on the chest bone, “Punch-line. Maybe then Bats would come."

"For him…” 

He lets out a horrendous, insane laugh – and he continues this for what seems like hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much, guys. I'm enjoying this immensely, I hope you are too.
> 
> Feel free to leave feedback, I'd love to know how I can make this better for you guys :)


	4. Self-destruction

The human race is extremely self-destructive. Not many die from old age without there being complications caused by ill-practice throughout their lives. We smoke and drink, binge eat fast foods and consume illicit substances. All things we are told not to do, for both our sake and the sake of those around us. 

But most people don’t care. Hell, most of the time I don’t care. I smoke like an Alaskan chimney in the dead of Winter, and don’t get me starting on my drinking habits. Any of my favourite foods contain cream or oil, and whilst I don’t dabble in the drugs nowadays, I once did.

Most of us, these days, don’t find a reason to continue: a reason to live every day to its fullest. We mope around, complain about our jobs, our houses and our spouse/s. We pollute this world with negative thoughts, and negative thoughts turn into negative actions. The clouds block the sun from our lives and we become shells of our former selves.  
Each of us cope in different ways, some healthy, some not so healthy. Some will exercise until they pass out from the exertion – it’s actually a technique I used to use. Some will drink booze – a technique I occasionally use. Others - the ones that believe that the world will never get better and that they are broken and used beyond repair, the ones that believe the world cannot get worse for them, the ones that believe they must apologise for how bad the world is around them – they self-harm. Some burn, some cut, some ingest and some break. Some die, but the ones that have it the worse are the ones that live: they either have to live through the recovery, or continue without it. Either way, people are harmed. Both ways, I know this from experience.

The self-destructive habits that we gain through our lives are passed onto others, even our kids; our consequences become their consequences. Their consequences often lead them to acquire their own bad habits, and the cycle of abuse and neglect continues. Unless someone stops it. Luckily for me, someone did.

 

Just not in time.

 

31/10/10 2041

My lungs are in agony, my co-ordination is in shambles, and my head is spinning from the lack of oxygen. My neck is strained from twisting my head back and forth, scanning my surrounding for the men I’d just majorly pissed off.

You see, Gotham is special. Not special like your ADHD nephew or special like the moment your crush tells you that they like you too, but a fucked-up, twisted kind of special. Every second person you meet in Gotham is willing to beat or even kill you for a twenty-dollar note. In Metropolis I hear the incidence of something like that is closer to only one in every 200 citizens. But Metropolis is nothing like Gotham, Metropolis is capable of being nice.

I, however, pride myself on being only willing to steal for a twenty. Which is what I’ve just done. The only differences are: one; they normally don’t notice until they leave the bar: two; most won’t give chase. 

Obviously, these buffoons didn’t get the memo - they didn’t adhere to either principle. 

As I jump-kick off a crumbling red-brick wall in order to make it over the trash pile, I glance behind me to see if I was safe. Seeing nothing, I put my back, clothed in a tatty red hoodie, against the wall, sleeveless arms resting above my head to give more room to my lungs so they may actually do their job. I sink just enough that only my arms would be visible to a by-stander, breathing in deeply.

However, that is cut off quickly as I hear footsteps walk past the entrance to the alleyway; by the sounds of it they are from someone passing with hurried steps, and they aren’t too heavy either – the pedestrian is possibly female.

A female young enough to walk at such a pace is in real danger around here. Be it with the rapist or the muggers, the serial killers or serial nut-jobs, the cold and wet weather or the lack of empathy from those well-off, the streets of Gotham are harsh to those that do not take the time to learn her secrets. Lucky for me, I am at least patient in that respect.

I wait for the lady to pass before heading further into the alley, being sure to limit the sounds of my breathing and steps as I do so. I duck into a little shack hidden by a sheet of rusted corrugated metal - a cozy shelter I found a few years ago whilst trying to out-run some of mum's 'friends'. Further in the distance I hear several people’s footsteps, all running. Once I would’ve gone after the lady I heard earlier, but I learnt that lesson quickly: in Gotham you are the only priority - everything and everyone else don’t even come a close second.

There’s only one person I break that rule for – my mum. Catherine Todd is – was – a kind, selfless woman. Now she’s just someone who occasionally leaves me enough money for food after she ‘parades around’ enough to pay off the loan sharks and drug-dealers. I think it’s how she shows she cares. 

 

At least I hope it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for not uploading earlier; I've been so tired these last few nights that I haven't had the energy to wait for the computer to boot and write the last 200 words of this chapter.
> 
> I promise I will try harder to be more consistent in uploads.


	5. Accidents

There is a common phrase that goes something like this: “occurred more by accident than by design.” It presents the idea that some events occur purely due to luck than to whatever it is we did to aid ourselves down that pathway.

Unfortunately for me, that either means I have shitty luck, or, someone is playing my cards wrong. Possibly me. Not likely though – I have an excellent Poker Face (thanks to Alfred).

But some people obviously have Poker Champions holding their cards and they don’t even realise it. By the time some people have reached the 3652 day mark of their life, they have already had so many happy ‘accidents’ that even one accomplishment by design is regarded as a huge deal. For example, some people are immediately lucky by being conceived by a couple that are not below the poverty line. Then they may even be luckier if their parents stay together and love each other (which, FYI, is becoming pretty uncommon… just saying).

So right off the bat (pun not-intended), this imaginary example which is not far from the average bloke in any other city known to Western Civilisation, is already two happy ‘accidents’ ahead of most people in Gotham City.

And then some become rich, some become educated and some are even helped by those who are either rich and/or educated. 

I am one of the few who had a rich and educated person help me. However, it wasn’t voluntary and the whole reason my world went to shit was because of things that occurred only because of the ‘accident’. So I’m not particularly sure that the help worked out in my favour in the long-term, but it definitely was good for me in the short-term.

 

Short-term? I gained a father and books, family and an actual life.

 

Long-term? I lost a father, my family and my life. 

 

31/10/10 2114

Eventually I made it back to the humble abode I call home. As I crept in through the barely-movable window in the East corner, I check on my mother, who happens to be an unconscious crumpled heap leaning over the crack and stained piece of porcelain we call the toilet. It truly wasn’t an uncommonly sight for me to see, my mother passed out somewhere in our apartment – her two professions are drug-user and prostitute…

So after I struggle to heave her body over my shoulders, I lay her down on the yellow-stained double mattress: a gift from one of her previous clients after they complained the single bed we once had wasn’t wide enough for him.

I grab a cloth from the kitchenette and dampen it, gently placing it across her forehead. I learnt how to treat basic ailments like a fever from the pimps down the road; sometimes the ‘worker’ was too sick to work so they left them with me to nurse them back to health. I admit getting the girls back on the street isn’t the best for them but the extra dollars he throws at me after I’ve hauled his meat back in a decent condition helps keep my room a bit quieter at night.

I stare out the Southern window, the mouldy wooden frame missing the glass, and find the Bat-Signal in the distance. I recognise that that means Batman is busy for a little bit and reckon I could probably make it to the all-night grocery store for a cup of noodles before he would be able to make it anywhere near here.

As I tip-toe out of the room, I place a kiss upon my mother’s forehead, flinching as she groans, before closing the lock-less door behind me. Three flights of fire-escapes later I am on the roof of 142 West Elliot Drive, Gotham City. That address would actually matter if it weren’t for the fact that 142 West Elliot Drive runs through Park Row and the infamous Crime Alley. The only good thing about this area is that all the buildings are close together, and therefore, I can generally move about without encountering the people (i.e. muggers and rapists) I would normally if I were to travel using the street.

I vault over ledges and clamber across the sunken-in rooves of Old Gotham until I reach the little corner store I frequent. I had two feet on the ladder, about to climb down the fire escape when I heard three shots fired in succession. I quickly pull myself back onto the roof and lay down, peering over the small brick border.

“Well fuck, there goes my noodles…” I curse under my breath as I spot the gang infiltrate the corner store with the ease only acquired from practice.

I get up slowly, and begin to walk back home, wallowing in self-pity about the loss of the noodle cup that I was very much looking forward to. I walk at only a moderate pace until I realise that the store robbery will probably attract the attention of the Bat or his Bird – neither are people I want to meet.

 

\---

 

Half an hour later, I climb back through the window of my flat to see my still-unconscious mother covered in her own vomit. I saunter over, grabbing the cloth from her forehead and using it to wipe the vomit from her eyes, nose and mouth. I resist the urge to gag, the ‘vomit’ was mostly comprised of stomach acid and bile, however, the stomach acid had streaks of white throughout it – I can’t tell which of her bad habits led to that…  
I contemplate it no longer as I climb into another one of my tacky, thread-bare sweaters before finally clambering into the pile of old blankets, towels, and an old stained pillow from our previous neighbours. This is what I call my night-home. It’s a place where, for even just a few hours, Gotham doesn’t exist, and neither do her predators. I feel safer here than anywhere else – it’s what a home should feel like (or at least that what I read in the books).

 

1/11/10 0427

 

“It was just an accident – I didn’t – I didn’t mean to…” I sob, “You have to believe me, I should’ve looked.” As a breathless gasp escapes I continue, “I should’ve looked, oh, I’m so sorry mum please. Don’t go. Mum!” I below into the cold vastness of the now empty room.

“All. Because. I. Wanted.” I accentuate each word with a dual-fisted slap to the dry, creaky floorboards. “Some. Fucking. Noodles.” 

I beat my fists against the floor, thoughts of all the different way this could’ve occurred. I could’ve checked and realise something was wrong. I could’ve waited until tomorrow to get some food. I could’ve been there for her in her final moments, made them easier for her.

I should’ve been there for her. Taken care of her. And I failed.

I once again check the pulse on the side of her neck.

 

Nothing.

 

Nothing but the cold, lifeless remain of my mother. Her lips are tinged blue, her eyes closed enough that my stupid brain didn’t recognise that she was too far gone. Her lower body covered in a substance I previously passed off as a client’s urine, but now realise it is her own. After having the best look at her in a long time, I realise the skin around her face is jaundice and gaunt, the face of someone who is both lacking in nutrition and calories. Someone who hasn’t been eating.

 

“Please don’t leave me, mum.” I beg quietly.

 

The echo of my words bounce around the room, with no one but myself to here them.

 

“I promise. I promise it was an accident.” I gasp for a breath of fresh air, something Catherine Todd will never do again. 

 

“I promise that I won’t leave you next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I am so happy that you guys seem to like this story - please know that every kudo, hit and comment means the world to me :)
> 
> Some of you may have noticed that the number of tags this fic uses as an umbrella has been drastically shortened. This is because I cannot decide if the story-lines I had previously planned to integrate into the fic should be done.   
> If any of you want those tags to be properly brought to the story, feel absolutely free to tell me.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks so much, see you next time :) :) :)


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